


Not Quite Lyrical

by zarabithia



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-04
Updated: 2007-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-20 18:14:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14899518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/pseuds/zarabithia
Summary: The boys get together to play.





	Not Quite Lyrical

There was a large contingent of people in the world, Bruce knew, who believed Clark Kent to be all things good and pure. Those people would never believe that either the bumbling reporter nor the god-like savior were capable of deviousness. They’d never believe any accusation of wickedness about the man, and in some cases, would beat the accuser where he or she stood for suggesting such a thing.

Staring into the darkness of his blindfold, Bruce thought of those people as his fingers tightened around the carefully locked restraints binding his hands. They’d surely never believe Clark capable of tying him spread eagle and spending over an hour doing his best to drive Bruce completely crazy.

Those people were idiots, and with Clark’s mouth mere inches away from his cock, Bruce had never been so glad not to be one of them.

"You’re not exactly earning your reputation as World’s Greatest Detective, Bruce," Clark mocked against his skin.

"It would help if you would pick a language and stick to it," Bruce ground out, years worth of training the only thing preventing him from not jerking against his restraints as Clark’s breath brushed against the tip of his cock.

Laughter rung out in the bedroom, and Bruce’s skin burned as Clark removed his mouth entirely. "Tsk, tsk, Bruce," Clark scolded. "You _know_ the rules."

The "rules" being that he had to guess what Clark was writing in spit on his inner thigh before Clark would give in and _allow_ Bruce any relief.

The activity usually involved some combination of languages, but tonight was a particularly complicated mess of letters that flaunted Clark’s ability to speak freely to any wildlife he might have to rescue from trees around the globe. With a dose of Aramaic thrown in for kicks. Only the quick nibbles Clark administered between words seemed to break up the flow of Clark’s tongue lapping a secret message across Bruce’s skin.

"Ass," Bruce grumbled affectionately.

"Such language," Clark scolded, with a particularly vicious bite. "I might have to gag you next time."

"You wouldn't. We couldn't play our game then."

"Sure we could. Your fingers are free, and you know sign language."

Part of Bruce was already looking forward to that session. If, for no other reason, it would prove, once and for all, that _his_ Clark was the type of devious, wicked creature at heart that only _Bruce_ knew.

Really, Bruce wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
